Machiavellian Breach
by Courtanie
Summary: Between Christophe's mercenary accuracy and Kyle's infiltration skills, they've found just what it takes to make a team work. But when Kyle gets too close to a target and becomes trapped in a compound rife with terrorists, the scale has been set askew, and what they've learned from the other over the years may be the only way that they can both make it out alive. Kytophe/Dyle
1. Prologue

_**A/N: Warnings here. This guy will have death, violence, abduction, noncon and other elements I'm sure that'll be added to warnings along the way.**_

 _ **This prologue takes place two years prior to the main storyline**_

 _ **Enjoy~**_

* * *

The motel he'd been put into was a mere step above repulsive, emitting the mingling stench of decades-old unwashed carpeting and dust a quarter's width thick atop the door frame. The room was a strange layout, he'd noted upon his arrival. One wall constructed at a sixty-degree angle, jutting off to rest behind the enclosed space that made up the bathroom, left a corner of plaster too concave to harbor so much as a potted plant. It made the area feel cluttered and unfinished, a persistent scratch on the back of his brain even as he'd ventured outside the room that night. Hiding in shadowed corners all his own, he'd thought of the motel, how it'd be impossible to be tactical confined in such an odd alcove.

As hands, softer than velour, kept him planted on the bed, roaming over his bared chest, he could feel that corner shifting from across the room to surround him. He felt exposed, but utterly trapped, his lungs constricted as a lithe, taut body hovered over him, slick and wet as they ground themselves down. Blanketed in nothing but the input three blue screen of the television behind him, the man looking down on him with half-lidded eyes was a mess of submission and a fierce predator. The light hugged around the soft curves of a thin waist and bony hips, dipped through and around disheveled red curls to stain them in an eerie, ethereal glow. Through the glint passing over his eyes, Christophe could see a ravenous appetite in the man, his own calloused fingers twitching to touch such a clash of personality.

He indulged himself, creeping along the bedsheets until hitting his holder's knee, genially opening his fingers and sliding up lean, strong thighs. They quivered under his touch, his nails digging into pallid flesh, subtle approval of the ounce of power he found with so simple an indication. It was robbed from him yet again with another subtle, calculated press of those hips, feeling hot skin brushing against his own and sending a fiery jolt throughout his core.

But, that's what Kyle was best at, he supposed. He held a fire around Christophe, shoved him face-first into the flames and refused to let it be doused until he deemed it appropriate to do so. For months he'd been doing this, following him halfway around the world, breaking into motel rooms to wait for him to come back and unknowingly strip before leaping out and pinning him down. The bed, the floor, the chair, wherever they fell, it never mattered. Either way, Christophe would always grab him to retaliate before realizing just who it was that had once again caught him and finding himself unable to do more than let Kyle lead them through the motions.

Kyle leaned down, brushing smoldering lips against his own, a few minted huffs of air leaving him as a sultry laugh. "You always seem so surprised," he purred.

Christophe blinked, Kyle's slender hands continuing to explore a defined chest, nails scraping down the skin and leaving pale marks in their wake. A shiver ran down his spine, his own fingers digging harder into Kyle's legs and rewarding him with a harsh draw of air through pearl-white teeth. Christophe's head tilted back in the slightest, lips scraping against Kyle's chin, daring to nip in the slightest at the bone. Kyle smiled, a hand straying from its study to trace to Christophe's cheek, the pads of his fingers threading through thick, dirtied brunet hair. A gentle, encouraging press against his skull prompted Christophe's mouth to open at last, still caught in that hypnotic, seductive gaze. "Non," he breathed. "Not surprised."

Kyle's brow cocked, a sly smirk creeping onto his lips. "Oh?"

"You are… predeectable," he managed a scoff. "Always when I am undresseeng."

He gave a small snort, "And yet you _never_ look for me or even _try_ to stop me. It's almost like you _want_ me here, Christophe," he teased, curling his index finger along a tangled lock. "What would _Gregory_ say?"

The name brought a sharp, sour twist to Christophe's gut and he scowled, Kyle grinning at the desired reaction. Those nails dug deeper into his thighs, a satisfied sigh leaving Kyle's throat at the pressure. "Who geeves a _sheet_?" Christophe demanded. "'e ees not my mo'zer."

"No, but he sure seems to call all the shots, doesn't he?" Kyle replied, tapping dotingly against his clavicle. His head tilted slightly upwards with an air of superiority, of deep-seated contempt ringing across a face splashed with nearly invisible freckles. "You're the one out here, risking your neck while he hides behind a computer. But somehow, _he_ tells _you_ what to do. I just think that's the _funniest_ thing."

Christophe stared at him, a long, shaking breath rattling his chest. "Do you not do ze same weez zat pussy you work for?"

Kyle's grin fell, lips twisting as he lightly smacked the side of his head. "I work for _no one_ but the client," he drawled. "And I only tell Luis who, where, and why. I'm not Gregory. I never tell him _how_ to do his job. And, let's face it, _Gregory_ wouldn't last on the field."

"Oh?" he managed a smirk. "But _you_ would?"

That smile crept back onto his face. "I like to _confirm_ the target before I send Luis off. Requires a bit of… _undercover work_ ," he purred, pressing his lower half down again. "Besides, I work with an _idiot_ ," he scoffed, watching Christophe arch up against him, trying so desperately to get inside the slick, pre-stretched hole taunting him so cruelly. " _He_ should be with Gregory, all he wants to do is follow orders and not think for himself. But not you," he purred, sliding his fingers down and onto Christophe's right hand, prying it off his thigh. Slowly, he led him onto his hip and guided him up his body, letting him feel every dip, brush over every freckle with purpose in his path. Christophe's eyes were wide, attention unmoving as he was pressed up Kyle's chest. A gentle bite hit his wrist before soft fingers prompted him to lightly wrap around a slender throat. Green eyes gleamed with arousal and purpose, free hand reaching back and gently snaring the skin standing and resting against his backside, feeling the tremble rushing down Christophe's spine. He raised his hips, making sure their eyes remained locked in one another's as he leaned back, lowering himself down onto the waiting cock. He moaned, spine stiffening as both of Christophe's hands tightened around their spots, Kyle's head tilting back and giving him more room to squeeze as he seated himself onto his lap.

Kyle's hand slid from the one on his neck, rubbing up and down a muscled arm with a smile full of thrill. "You miss having a say," he whispered, eyes closing for a moment as his body quaked, muscles pulsating as they tried to adjust to the thick stretch. Christophe's fingers twitched against his thigh in impatience, trying to keep himself from gripping harder around his throat but unable to help the excited swelling from the prospect. Kyle grinned, opening his eyes again and looking down his arm into hazel eyes set ablaze. "Don't you?"

Tongue passing over dried lips, head spinning in the eerie, claustrophobic space, Christophe nodded briskly, the wind taken from him as Kyle gently lifted himself and forced himself back down onto his dick. " _Oui_ ," he whispered, enamored with the concept coming from that toxic, delicious mouth.

"You want what you had before him. You want the _control back_ ," Kyle continued, legs rocking as he rode him, breath turning hard and heavy, moaning with each press down. "He won't let you," he urged, leaning his neck further against his hand, Christophe feeling his throbbing pulse radiating down into his palm, holding Kyle's life at an arm's length. "But _I will_ ," he rasped, nails digging into his arm and a soft, subtle whimper breaking through at a harder squeeze. His head was going heavy, his body on autopilot as he continued slamming himself down onto Christophe's cock, his own erection beating against the man's pelvic bone with each thrust.

Christophe's body was quivering in excitement at the notion, feeling a surge of power breaking through him with rapidity at each labored breath barely leaking out of Kyle's compromised trachea. Hazel eyes lit with brimming energy, taking his hand off Kyle's throat and the man nearly falling from the sudden change. Kyle panted, hips stopping and looking up through hanging bangs. "What's wr-" he stopped with a startled gasp as his arm was snared and he was pulled up before being shoved off to the other side of the mattress.

He barely lifted his face from the surface before weight landed on top of him, shoving him back down. Kyle groaned, bucking his ass back against Christophe's cock, pleading for more of what he'd started. Christophe stared at the sinewy lines of his shoulder blades and spine, the way his muscles flexed with each ragged breath and each shove back. His upper lip curled into a famished snarl, reaching forward and snagging Kyle's thin wrists in his hand, yanking his arms back. Kyle followed with a yelp, grunting as one rough palm grabbed them both, shoving them into the small of his back. Christophe reached under his abdomen, forcing his hips higher into the air. "Leetle slut," Christophe muttered.

Kyle's head managed at last to swivel to the side, chest heaving with that grin plastered back on his freckled face and long lashes fluttering in the dim lighting. "Depends. Gonna ditch that British dipshit and work with me?"

Christophe grunted, lining himself up and sliding straight back into Kyle's waiting body, listening to his moan echo against the musty walls. "Non," he said, Kyle pausing and looking back at him with a frown. Christophe reached down, snagging his hair and ripping him back upright, tongue curling up behind his ear. Kyle gulped as his fingers worked back down to around his throat, eyes slamming shut with a vicious thrust pressing up inside. "You weell work _for_ me, _petit renard_ ," he growled.

Kyle gasped as his hips began to move, body unable to stop shivering from the intensity, his head falling back onto Christophe's shoulder with a wheeze as his palm pressed into his adam's apple. His captive fists clenched, chest aching as his stomach fluttered in exhilaration. He laughed breathlessly, humming at another squeeze around his neck. "Didn't… didn't say I'd just _give you_ all the power here," he teased between pants.

"Zen I weell _take eet_ ," he snarled, biting his ear hard enough to garner a pained yelp. "Legs wider, Broflovski," he demanded.

Kyle hesitated, considering putting up more of a 'fight' until a strong, threatening press against his throat made his decision for him. He wasn't stupid, he knew he held more than enough cards in their game to get Christophe to stop if he wanted, but they'd been circling the board for far too long. Kyle was determined to make this his last trip out.

He rolled his shoulders back, thighs spreading further apart with a wince. He groaned, head twisting a bit and finding himself nestled in sweated brown hair with a smirk. "Remember when Gregory told you never to see me again?" he murmured, kissing his temple. Christophe grunted at the reminder, tightening his grip on his wrists. "Bet he was so _furious_ ," he prodded. He hissed at teeth suckling the nape of his neck, canines delving deep into the flesh. Kyle whimpered, a tremor rolling down his spine as heat violated him so precisely, brought him in and out of surface tension time and again. His erection was nearly painful, dripping onto the motel sheets as all hands were kept away, Christophe's own little brand of punishment that he could never say he hated. "What would he say _now_?" he asked through a strenuous exhale, scalding breath bouncing off Christophe's face back to his own.

He growled, nails scraping Kyle's jugular. He knew exactly what Gregory would say. That he was stepping out of line, that it was _inappropriate_ to conduct such behavior with someone who could potentially be a double. He'd never trusted Kyle, not since he'd found out he was in the same line of work as he was, and his number of hits exceeded his own. _"Too suspicious,"_ Gregory had claimed. _"He's either falsifying the numbers or he's murdering innocents. No one gathers intelligence that quickly without connections to the targets."_

But Christophe had learned better in his last ten months of Kyle's relentless pursuit of him. The man under his palm was crafty, could track someone down to within a quarter mile within the hour. He could charm, he could mislead and manipulate. He could seduce.

Years of hardened mercenary work hadn't stood up to Kyle's silver tongue and unabashed hands, unwittingly giving Kyle his and Gregory's home base location before he'd realized it within the first few of their meetings. But Kyle hadn't done anything damaging with that information, merely laughed and teased him that he was _lucky_ Gregory's suspicions held no water, but how it was nice to know his skills could outwit even the best in the partnering field.

No, Kyle only once came near their base, knowing that while Gregory wouldn't come after him outside, he knew well enough how to work a gun and wouldn't hesitate to shoot him down if he caught him within their quarters. He stuck to merely waiting until they were both out, setting a remote server on Gregory's computer to more easily track where Christophe was being sent next from his and Luis's base three states away. He always went where he could find an excuse to hand his partner, only taking trips to where he knew potential leads for their own clients were within a hundred miles. His system was simple: Leave two days before Christophe, get his own target's information, instruct Luis on the next step, then just wait for the _real_ mission to be within range. Christophe never quite knew _why_ the man was so determined to worm his way beside of him, but he certainly couldn't complain. Not when he knew he had a grip over Kyle that no one else did, one that brought him back time and again, just waiting for him. Only _wanting him_.

Christophe huffed, nipping his back yet again. "You talk too much," he murmured, encapsulated with the tight muscles so devastatingly drawing him in, the body beckoning him like a siren song.

Kyle chuckled, pressing his lips against his skull and humming pleasantly. _"Then shut me up_."

Full-fledged permission was granted, and Christophe was going to run with it. He wanted his talk of his partner to cease, but he was more than happy to make sure Kyle couldn't keep _completely_ silent. He let go of him, shoving him forward to fall off himself and crash into the pillows. Christophe slid back off the mattress, turning and shuffling through his discarded clothes left strewn across the floor.

Kyle propped himself up on his elbows and watched him over his shoulder, brow raising. "Sorry, did I say the wrong thing?"

"On your back," he ordered, snaring a fraying cloth belt from his waistband. Kyle paused, watching the glowing silhouette of his working on either end of the tails. He smirked, doing as told and rolling over, head falling back onto a pillow and a soft, content sigh escaping him at the sensation of cool sheets spread underneath his back. Limber fingers trailed up his hip, gently wrapping around his hardened skin and giving a few slow, purposeful pumps. "'ands off, over your 'ead," Christophe's voice broke through his haze.

Green eyes lit with both frustration and delight, giving him a dramatic sigh as he let himself go, raising his hands up to rest with his knuckles pressing against the wooden slats of the headboard. He let out a quiet purr as he stretched, back arching and feeling Christophe's eyes leaving his work and landing on his enticing motions. He flinched as a sudden hand landed on his abdomen and shoved him back down, looking up and blinking innocently at the hovering mercenary. "What?" he cooed, giving him a lazy smile.

A huff of irritated breath seeped through Christophe's nose as he climbed back onto the mattress and straddled over slim hips. He reached forward, snatching the pillow from under Kyle's head and ripping it back, watching his skull fall back and ghastly auburn curls spread out like a devil's halo atop the flat surface beneath. Christophe grunted as he slid forward a bit, maneuvering the strap of his belt to worm behind a slat, weaving it in front of the next to slip through the third and final directly behind Kyle's loosely curled fist. Kyle watched in interest, barely taking note of the movement of cloth and more focused on the subtle flexion of solid muscle as Christophe worked. He sighed to himself wistfully, giving no more than a quiet breath of a moan as his arms were grabbed and crossed over his head, only finally looking up as his wrists were slipped into biting fabric rings.

He chuckled, "Not the safest way to tie someone up, Christophe." He wriggled the fingers of his left hand as it was left utterly entrapped, checking his own circulation as Christophe continued onto the right. The knot pinched his thin skin, turning it an irritated pink.

"You 'ave 'ad worse, Broflovski," he muttered, eyes not faltering from their work. Kyle snorted, nodding a bit. He'd take this over being zip-tied to an enemy's chair to be interrogated _any day_. Christophe released his other wrist, watching Kyle's hand moving curiously for a check of slack. He knew that the man could _easily_ get out if he wanted to with a mere concentrated contortion of his fingers to worm between the cloth and himself, but from the way Kyle shifted under him, arched against him with a desperate yearning to be touched, Christophe had a feeling Kyle wouldn't break out for anything less than a fire. He tongued over chapped lips, hands gripping around Kyle's upper torso and slowly inching their way down to his hips, rubbing along his skin and feeling the excited palpitations of his heart. "What would you do eef I was ze enemy?" he questioned.

Kyle cocked his brow at the sudden query, but gave him a sly grin and a shrug. "I don't let the enemy tie me up so easily."

He scoffed, "Bullsheet. I know what you 'ave done for eenformation, Broflovski."

"That's different," he argued dismally as thumbs pressed into his hipbones, slowly rubbing in tight, grounded circles. "They don't _know_ I'm the enemy if it gets that far."

"And yet you steell let zem put zeir deecks een you," he rolled his eyes.

"Jealous?" he taunted, green eyes gleaming.

Christophe paused, tightening his hold on his bones and looking at that waiting expression, the one so subtly pleading for him to tell him the truth. The truth of how the tracking had become mutual, Christophe going out of his way to hire a hacker of his own to watch movements Kyle made for his own missions. How he stayed awake all night if Kyle's signal fell off radar as he went undercover, unable to _think_ of sleep until he contacted his home base again. How he and Gregory had been at such strenuous odds with one another since their first encounter, how he'd nearly broken his partner's nose for insinuating that Kyle was doing nothing more than wanting to make him his killing lackey, to pass the blame for the blood on his hands from Luis to him.

He wanted to tell him, wanted him to know how much it disappointed him when Kyle _didn't_ follow and wait for him. How any news of an intel source in their field being brought down all but stopped his heart until he knew for sure Kyle was still safe. He wanted him to know it _all_ , wanted to scream it at him, shake him and make him understand what he'd been putting him through for nearly a year.

Instead, he leaned down with a snarl, grabbing his hair and yanking until Kyle's mouth parted with a pained cry and delving his tongue past his teeth. Kyle moaned, lashes fluttering before slipping closed, captured fists clenching and loosening, wanting so badly to run his hands through Christophe's matted hair, to pull the back of his neck down, force him as close as humanly possible until he was all but enveloped in his stocky build. He could only vaguely feel as his curls were relinquished, too distracted by the clash of tongues and the taste of tobacco and black coffee to notice Christophe's hands on yet another mission off to the side.

He nearly choked as Christophe pulled back, realizing how much air the man had stolen from him as they wheezed against one another. "I keep eet dark een 'ere for a reason," Christophe murmured, stealing another kiss.

"To keep hidden," he whispered, returning the favor. He was more than aware, it was why he only turned on the television to see Christophe, the same tactic he used in his own missions.

"You are too _loud_ to keep us 'idden," he continued, the slightest edge of playful mocking in his tone. Kyle grinned, giving him a sheepish shrug. Christophe pulled back, Kyle's eyes drawn to his hand as he held it up, a bunched-up pillowcase clenched between his fingers. "I do not weesh to die because you cannot keep quiet."

Kyle chuckled, "Oh, I'm sorry. Want me to stay silent? Just stare at the ceiling and think about grocery shopping while you do your thing?"

"Non," he smirked, moving the case down and forcing it through Kyle's teeth with his first two fingers, watching his face scrunching in the slightest at the influx of cotton suddenly stifling his tongue. He let out a gasp as his legs were grabbed, hiked up over broad shoulders. Christophe grunted, lining back up and diving his cock back into place. Kyle let out a surprised, muffled moan, head rolling back as he was denied time to adjust once more, Christophe hips snapping against him steady as a metronome. His arms snuck around Kyle's thighs, holding his waist steady in his hands and leaning forward, forcing Kyle's body to bend as he yanked him back against his rhythm.

Kyle was beyond dazed, unable to stop screaming from behind his impromptu gag with every nerve being so brutally taken advantage of, adoring every iota of pressure against him. He could feel the beginning of bruises to be had from fingers gripped too tightly, slight burns starting to spawn under cloth not suited for its current usage. He didn't care; he couldn't find _anything_ wrong with what he was being put through with those murky eyes so intensely focused on him. His propped jaw trembled as his head was forced back up from the side it'd lolled onto, creaking his eyelids open to meet that overwhelmingly hypnotical stare.

Christophe leaned further forward, Kyle wincing at how he was obliged to curl with him. A thumb stroked his cheek, the nail scraping across his muscle. "Eef I _was_ ze enemy…" Christophe started, voice keeping low, just barely audible over Kyle's blocked noises. Kyle's eyes widened at the hand sliding from his face back down to his throat, falling nearly silent at a rough squeeze. "I could keell you, right 'ere," he reminded him, hips never slowing, feeling his stomach curling with sensitivity but forcing himself down a bit, wanting to see every bit of Kyle's reaction. "And you could not do a _fuckeeng_ _zing_ about eet," he hissed.

Kyle's eyes fluttered, groaning as his tendons were squeezed enough to momentarily cut off his air before being given a short reprieve and gasping his way through it. A routine began, seconds of pressure and his vision spotting, his head falling back from the weight it suddenly seemed to gain before Christophe would let him come back to life. Always just long enough for his senses to kick back in before leading him through it all over again. Through it all, he trembled with pure exhilaration, knowing full and well that Christophe was right. At any moment, he was dangling by a mere coil of threads, and Christophe was tottering with scissors, running the edge of the blade all along the fibers. Bit by bit he was letting it fray, but never enough to where he would slice through a filament.

Christophe was fascinated by the way Kyle's eyes, stained a rich teal in the television light, would widen with momentary panic before lowering as Kyle would again recognize just who had a hold on him. He was a strung-out disaster, every ounce of power he'd held in their situation taken from him in its entirety, and they were both relishing in the effects it brought about. His pupils were nearly pinpoints from the treatment, his jaw was shaking around the pillowcase. Christophe had seen the look before, the faces of countless that he had done away with in the past. He'd learned over the years to look past that expression and do merely what needed to be done. But not here; not with Kyle. He wanted to both overpower and coddle him, wanted to hear him screaming for him to stop and begging for more. He wanted everything that Kyle had made clear he was willing to give him if he fell to his side at long last. That look on his freckled face twisted his stomach in both pain and elation. He wanted to see it time and again, but he _never_ wanted to see it with someone else's hand holding him down.

Christophe grunted, head bowing and sweat beading his forehead. His vision was blurring, forcing himself to release his grip around the slender collar for fear of missing a telltale indication in his haze. He kept his hand over the skin, feeling Kyle's gasps expanding throughout his trachea as he tried to gain back what he'd lost. " _Sheet_ ," he spat, listening to a flood of whimpers finally able to work through Kyle's chest, feeling his lungs expanding and convulsing with near-sobs at the barrage of sensations piling back on him. He lifted his head back up in the slightest, seeing Kyle's eyes scrunched shut. He lifted his hand, sharply slapping him across the face and getting his attention back where it belonged.

Kyle's eyes widened as he was hovered over, hazel bearing down on him like stone. Christophe forced his head to the side, leaning down towards his ear and flicking his tongue under the lobe. " _I want eenside_ ," he said simply. Kyle nodded frantically, hips bucking all they could as he was continually yanked back over his cock. The enthusiasm was overwhelming, Christophe moaning and shuddering, opening his mouth and latching his teeth into Kyle's collar as any remaining hint of his reserve spiraled out of his reach, lost in the trap of the taut body beneath him. Kyle yelped at his canines breaking skin and a strong pulse coming from the cock shoved inside of him. Christophe met his end in a shroud of lost vision and the smell of spearmint gum and over-creamed lattes, fingers and teeth tightening as he exploded inside the vice gripping him.

All too soon for them both, his hips came to a stop, back locked and skin too sensitive from so much stimulation. His breath came out staggered, his jaw unhinging as he panted wetly against the crook of Kyle's throat. Kyle moaned, arching as he was slid out of, body feeling empty without such a pleasant stretch. He pivoted his head up, meeting Christophe's cheek with his own and nudging him, bouncing his pelvis up and nearly squeaking at the slightest hint of pressure against his own unresolved problem.

Christophe gave him a huffed breath of a laugh, hand shoving his bottom half back down as he shook his head. "Not yet," he informed him, tremoring as he propped himself up over the compromised man. Kyle whined a bit from behind his gag, trying to move and hump against him, gain the _slightest_ hint of friction as each breath felt like more than enough to topple him over on their own. He groaned as his legs were dropped, his hamstrings singing the sweet song of masochistic pleasure. Weakly, he watched as Christophe stared down at him, moving his hand down his chest and diverting to his waist, touching every inch but the ones he so _desperately_ needed. "I 'ave questions first," Christophe said stoutly. "You keep your fuckeeng voice down, and you answer, zen I weell 'elp weez zis," he said, dragging a _cruel_ , taunting back of his finger along Kyle's dripping cock.

Kyle groaned, nodding through a shaking breath. He coughed slightly as the pillowcase was delicately removed from his mouth. He stretched his jaw, looking back at Christophe as he watched him cautiously, recognizing that look of wondering whether he'd overstepped his lines and needed to get him out of what he'd put him into. He smiled crookedly, vision still blurred and his voice turned hoarse as he spoke. "Did you know I was taken prisoner in Argentina a few years ago?" he asked.

Christophe narrowed his eyes, wondering where he was going with this. "Uh, non. I deed not."

He chuckled humorlessly, "I wasn't even part of the agency they were after, was after another group entirely in fact and didn't know their ring was stationed there. But they kept me for four days. Interrogated me for information I didn't have, even broke my tibia before I was finally rescued with a hostage exchange. _That_ was less torture than _this_."

Christophe couldn't help but smirk, shaking his head at him wearily. "You 'ave a strange set of priorities, petit renard."

"I know what I want, and I always get it," he purred. "So, ask your questions so my dick stops leaking like a fucking faucet."

He nodded, continuing to stroke a hand over his waist, losing every ounce of his coarse nature as he settled comfortably into the afterglow, basking in the radiance of Kyle's brimming eyes. "Why 'ave you come for me?"

"Well, I haven't _yet_ , you won't let me," he teased, his grin slipping a bit with Christophe beginning to frown. He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact with him and shrugging. "Been waiting for you to actually ask that."

"I _'ave_ ," he scoffed. "You always talked your way out and _ran_."

"You never thought to ask when you've had me tied up before," he shrugged again. "That's my job, avoiding your questions and getting my own answered," he reminded him.

Christophe squeezed his hip, "I weell not agree to _anyzeeng_ weez no answer."

Kyle groaned, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling, eyes closing shyly. "Because you're good at what you do. You're not fucking _sloppy_ like _some_ mercenaries I know," he shook his head. "We could fucking _skyrocket_ our client numbers if we work together instead of relying on morons like we do."

He rattled him a bit, "Non. Zat ees not ze reason. Zere are _plenty_ of ozer good men een my line. Why _me_?" he demanded.

Kyle paused, eyes finally breaking back open and looking at him with an embarrassed gulp. "You saved my life."

Christophe shook his head in shock. He'd never worked with Kyle on the field, not _once_. "What?"

"Two years ago, you saved me from getting shot down," he admitted. "We were both off in fucking Angola, I guess for the same guy, or at least the same group."

Christophe paused, trying to trace back just what he'd been there for. He could only remember a large team to track down, and only one man he had sniped right off his chair from one-thousand yards away. "Ze… drug trade?" he guessed.

Kyle nodded, " _'A Corrente'_ ," he clarified. "The man you killed was someone I went after. He didn't like that I'd 'left', even though at the time I was just sneaking around gathering evidence. I overheard that he was gonna order a hit on me for before I got out of the country since I'm a little distinguishable there," he rolled his eyes before locking stares back with him. "You shot him before he could. If you hadn't, I would've been either tracked down before I made it to the streets or flat-out executed on the tarmac."

Christophe stared at him, a thick gulp rolling down his throat. "So… zis… whole zing…?" he squeezed him again.

He shook his head, "It didn't start out like this. I just wanted to talk to you after I figured out who you were. I did some looking around, saw your record, and wanted to at least see if I could make conversation. When I finally found and _saw you_ , well… Guess I decided if you wouldn't work with me I could at least get some good stuff out of it," he blushed.

Christophe sighed quietly, remembering how Kyle had approached him the first time. How he'd tried to walk away, but the man wouldn't stop following him as they both made way through a Mexican marketplace. Somehow, though even now Christophe couldn't remember the words used, Kyle had managed to convince him within the hour to pin him against the back of a cantina and do with him as he pleased. He'd mentioned their lines of work in the aftermath, feeling Christophe stiffen thinking he'd waltzed into a trap before talking him down and stroking through his hair as they sat together in an alleyway. He'd asked him for the first time to come work with him, and Christophe had merely muttered he needed to think about it before getting up and walking away without another word.

He'd told Gregory of his strange encounter with the clandestine redheaded man, and Gregory had been _enraged_. He'd told Christophe to never so much as speak to him again, that he knew _exactly_ who it was that was trailing him, and he was not to be trusted. Rumors were exempt from no group, mercenaries included, and Kyle had a reputation following behind him that stood out from mere kill records and how many plans thwarted. For him, those statistics were only the result of his speculated _tactics_ , how he went far outside what his given allowances should be, got far more information out of his targets than others. Few knew why or how, but any that spoke with him could certainly harbor a guess. Gregory had his own suspicions, and he wanted his team kept out of his tricks. After all, intel belonged on the _inside_. They were there for names and crimes alone. The clients only hired for one person at a time, and they were to _keep it_ to that target, their groups notwithstanding. He didn't trust someone who played it so fast and loose on the field as though it were a game, considered him childish and nothing more than a moving bullseye just waiting to be struck, a fool who didn't understand the meaning of _covert_ operative. The further he was kept from the two of them, Gregory had surmised, the better.

But, somehow, Christophe just kept 'happening' to run into him on his expeditions. And he just 'happened' to be outwitted and led into bed with him time and again. Gregory was none the wiser, had asked now and then about whether he'd seen Kyle since that first night and getting nothing more than a dismissive scoff and Christophe walking back away into his room.

"Why deed you keep comeeng back?" he asked at last. "I told you I would not ze first time."

Kyle shook his head slowly, "You've never told me no. Ever. You always just made an excuse or told me you'd think about it. If you had, I would've let it go and left you be… And you would have denied the offer by now if you didn't want it. What's holding you _back_?" he pleaded. "Is it just because of this?" He jerked his head towards their naked bodies before he frowned, "Or is it _that_ fucking asshole?"

Christophe raised his brow at the spiteful tone seeping through his words, the way his teeth grit down and his brow furrowed. "Broflovski… are you _jealous_ of Gregory?" he gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

Kyle blinked, mouth fumbling in the slightest, "J-jealous that he isn't stuck with a Luis, yes. He… he gets to be efficient and I don't, that's… you know… not… fair," he mumbled, shifting a bit in his hold, wanting more than anything to just run out the fucking door.

He continued to stare, watching Kyle squirming uncomfortably underneath him, eyes flickering about. This wasn't a Kyle he was used to, more than familiar with steely-reserve mannerisms, with an everlasting flirtatious charm. He had no doubt Kyle had long since turned this side of him into another tactic, one used to make him seem vulnerable against someone who'd instantly take down a perceived threat. But here, it seemed almost _too_ genuine. And he wouldn't have stored it in his back pocket for so long if he'd intended on using it all along. He leaned down closer, Kyle finally looking up at him and swallowing, looking so small in his predicament he seemed like another person entirely. He hummed, chest cinching pleasantly and a smirk creeping up his face. Calloused fingers lightly trailed around his hip and up, grasping around still-hardened skin and watching Kyle arch with a needy moan. "So," he started, giving a small jerk and smiling at Kyle following the motion, "ees zis ze _real_ you?"

Kyle blinked, not exactly in the headspace for being questioned. "What… whaddya mean?" he forced out.

He leaned down, kissing him briskly. "So shy and quiet," he teased.

He rolled his eyes, blush turning darker. "People are more than one level, Christophe. Is the real you the one who lets yourself get pinned by someone _half your size_?" he drawled, hissing sharply at another tug.

Christophe shrugged, releasing him and listening to his whine, his head beating back against the mattress. Kyle bit his lip, watching as Christophe reached to a discarded bottle thrown carelessly onto the nightstand, shuddering as he tipped the plastic and let clear solution drip into a waiting palm. "Only one, petit renard," he rumbled, throwing the bottle back and grabbing around his cock again. Kyle's mouth dropped, flinching with sensitivity at each tug. His hands twisted, trying to break forward and grab, to scratch and plead. The headboard remained sturdy, barely swaying with his efforts. He whimpered, frustrated tears dotting the corners of his eyes as he struggled. Christophe watched him amusedly, thumbing over his slit. "Ask nicely."

"Tophe, _please_ ," he whispered with a cracking voice.

Christophe's stomach fluttered at the familiarity of the moniker, pressing back down and stealing his lips, his free hand flying up and worming fingers between Kyle's confinement and his burning skin to let him worm his way out. Hands free of their binding flew forward, wrapping in his hair and scratching up his back, drawing him in closer as their tongues and teeth clashed against one another. Hot breaths unfurled between them, both unable to find a hint of workable oxygen amongst one another. Kyle's hips rocked against steady pumps, pressing up against Christophe's abdomen and letting his plethora of noises waft into Christophe's open mouth. His arms wrapped around Christophe's neck, overrun with pure _feeling_ as his muscles began to tense, his bottom half tingling as he crept closer and closer from Christophe's relentless teasing.

"Tophe," he breathed out through a long-winded, pleasured sigh. His fingernails burrowed into his back with crescent indentations in their wake. Christophe merely grunted, shoving his tongue deeper as he felt Kyle right on the edge, drowning out a cry as he spilled over at last, marring both their stomachs and reaching up to their chins. Christophe was fascinated with how he scratched and managed to slur out pleas and grateful, sloppy kisses in his momentary disillusionment. He sank back down onto the mattress and Kyle choked out a snivel, flinching at the pressure still wrapped around him as he was reduced to nothing but over-sensitized nerves.

Christophe automatically released him, wiping his lube-coated palm on the sheets before reaching up and threading his fingers through disheveled curls. He pulled back his tongue, both separating from one another's lips and staring as they panted, still so urgently wrapped around each other. Christophe gulped, petting through his hair and watching Kyle slowly sinking from his high, recognizing that stare of adoration he always fell into in his afterglow. He nodded, fighting his way through a ragged breath. "Oui."

Kyle straightened out, eyes widening. "To what?" he whispered.

"You know what, do not make me regret zis already, petit renard," he rolled his eyes, attempting to save face with a brash kiss. He pulled back, watching once more as Kyle processed his answer. His heart beat thunderously, unable to help mirroring his expression as Kyle's lips curled into a pleased, affectionate smile.


	2. Chapter 2

His head was absolutely pounding with exhaustion, his arms were stiffened from being wrenched behind him for so goddamn long. Hazel eyes steadily swept between two guards on either side of his holding cell, his lip curling into a sneer. He didn't know what about the situation annoyed him more: The fact that he'd wound up in this situation or the fact that he hadn't had a goddamn cigarette in two fucking days.

Christophe wasn't sure what was going to be accomplished here. All he knew was that the Peruvians down and out of the holding block liked to yell at him in Spanish and then get pissed when he had no idea what they were asking. Chances are, it wouldn't have mattered regardless. Christophe didn't _have_ the information they would have wanted, he only had a name and face engraved in his file. All the intricacies of their organization flew right on by him, that was never _his_ job. His job was to wait and to shoot or stab. Unfortunately, it's much harder to shoot someone when the goddamn bough breaks.

He smirked self-righteously. He may not have killed his target, but he got one of his fucking lackeys when the limb crushed his throat. Little of a victory as it was, it still counted in his book. One less of these bastards sneaking around the human trafficking trade. If he had it his way, he'd be allowed to flat-out bomb the complex to the ground. That'd be _'too conspicuous'_ though. He had to make " _subtle_ changes", as the agency had informed him time and again. How bringing down a ringleader was "subtle", Christophe would probably never know. But, an order was an order. And either way, he got to watch a man gasp for air he couldn't have before he was hauled off to their prison. Better than nothing.

And it was _certainly_ better than being interrogated. He shifted atop the wooden chair, thumbnail pressing against his opposing palm and trying to redirect the withdrawal pains elsewhere. His eye was bruised and heated from a direct hit, his stomach aching from blow after blow and his arms throbbing from hardened grips. Somehow all he could focus on was the shaking as he envisioned his lungs filling with the sweet minute killing that he'd grown to depend on. Hell, if he _did_ have their information, they probably could've gotten it out of him with a trade for a pack. Or maybe he'd be stingy and hold out for a carton at least.

He shook his head at himself. This was the reason he stayed out of sight as often as possible. He wasn't easy to break, but he was easier to read than necessary when it came to his weaknesses. He could only clarify a handful of life pleasures to be potent enough to qualify as these vulnerabilities: His hands for his work, his cigarettes, his identity.

And a certain redhead outside his cell he now found himself staring at in utter bewilderment.

Kyle's face was locked in a tight frown, dressed in some clean pressed shirt Christophe hadn't seen before and dark slacks, looking like the prince to the pauper chained to a chair. Scanning over the damage done, Kyle let out a long breath through his nose. He turned to a man standing beside him with tanned skin and an authoritative glare. Christophe glanced at the discreet pin pressed into an stiffened collar, the yellow circle and green line running straight through it and growled under his breath. Kyle was standing far too close to him for comfort. Far too close to a man integrated with such a _despicable_ business.

Kyle hummed, _"Él es americano. ¿Verdad?"_

" _Sí,"_ he nodded. _"No hablara."_

Kyle nodded, locking eyes with Christophe yet again and nonchalantly wiping over his mouth as he cleared his throat a bit. Christophe took a deep breath at his signal. Keep his mouth shut until told otherwise. Easy enough. Kyle continued, _"¿Alguno de ustedes habla inglés?"_

The man shrugged, " _Solo un poco. No es suficiente para que esta estúpida persona entienda. Su acento no es americano, aunque."_

Kyle let out a soft 'ah', bringing his hand back up, tapping two fingers up against his lips as he stared at the prisoner thoughtfully. A little bit of English was more than enough to expose them if the wrong words came into play. He knew he couldn't trust Christophe to stay steady in his role, he was an _awful_ actor. But, if they didn't recognize Christophe's accent with enough ease to say it with confidence, chances were high they couldn't _speak it_ either. He just needed to find out his odds. One or two recognized phrases of English could be enough to ruin his entire scheme, getting them as far out of the loop as possible was their only chance. _"¿Qué acento tiene él?"_

The man blinked, looking at the two guards who just gave him a small shrug. _"No estamos seguros. Creemos que es francés."_

" _¿Y no hablas francés?"_ he eyed him a bit, watching a change of his pupils, a hand on his face, _anything_ to get a full read on the level of truth in his response.

He shook his head, staring the man straight-on with nothing but casualness in his tone, if not the slightest hint of embarrassment of his lack of linguistic skill, " _No un poco."_

Kyle nodded, straightening up and clearing his throat, locking his attention solely on Christophe. _"Suivez mes directives,"_ he ordered.

Christophe stared at him, reading the demand so heavy in his eyes and giving a curt, subtle nod. Kyle had a plan, at least there was that. Didn't explain why he was _there_ , though.

Kyle turned back to the man and gave a sweet, disarming smile. _"Déjame entrar para que pueda hablar con él."_ The man paused, looking between the two of them, not sure if that's what Kyle _actually_ wanted. The man in the cell was beyond dangerous, and the small interrogator his boss had sent to him didn't seem the type to be able to stop him if things got out of control. Kyle narrowed his eyes. _"¿Vas a hacer esto? ¿O necesito conseguir al jefe?"_

He cringed in the slightest. No. No, he did _not_ want his boss to get called down here. Last thing he needed was to be reprimanded yet again. He let out a long, angry sigh, ripping a set of keys out of his pocket and shoving them into the cell door's lock. Kyle stepped into the room as the door was opened, looking back as it was slammed shut behind him, the criminal not wanting to take the chance of the subdued mercenary breaking out and attacking anyone on the outside. Kyle smirked. " _Gracias."_

Kyle walked over and bent down in front of Christophe, and the man could see an impending lecture in his stare. Christophe nearly jerked back at the smooth start of French slipping off Kyle's tongue like summer rain. "You fucking stay speaking French," he ordered. "I'm not risking English around them."

Christophe nodded, though his chest twisted with puzzlement, "Why are you here?!"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "There's time for that once we get your clumsy ass out of here. Now. We have to get them away from the door so I can uncuff you. This has to get physical." Christophe subtly raised an amused brow and he rolled his eyes once more. "Don't fucking start with me, Mole. We need to stage a fight. Any ideas since all you **do** is cause trouble?"

Christophe narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah, because you _never_ get captured, Ky-" he stopped with a sharp slap across his face, head snapping to the side and looking back at him with enragement. "What the FUCK?!"

"Don't _fucking use my name, you retard!_ They don't know I know you! _"_ he hissed.

He sneered, "Well _sorry_. Use a goddamn codename with these people for once then, huh?!"

Kyle glared, taking a long, deep breath through his nose. "Turn your hands. Make them as flat as possible."

"…Why?" he blinked.

"Because. I'm going to fucking kick your chair over. So, either do that or get your fingers broken."

"That'd be more a loss on your part than mine-" he stopped as Kyle stood and violently kicked his shoulder. He barely managed to flatten his hands before he collided with the cement floor, groaning in pain. "You little _bitch!_ " he yelled.

Kyle rolled his eyes at his dramatics before turning and looking at their gaping audience. _"¡Salir! Él no cooperará si lo está mirando."_ The men looked at one another hesitantly and he growled. _"¿Quieres respuestas o no? ¡Voy a romper este pedazo de mierda si usted acaba de ir!"_

They stood straighter, the main guard giving the other two a brief nod. They needed answers from the mercenary. If they had to leave the vicinity to get them, then so fucking be it. They turned and began walking down the block hall, Kyle taking a long, slow breath as Christophe continued to wriggle and curse from the floor. He genially stepped towards the bars, subtly glancing around the corner of the cell wall and watching the three of them stopping at the end of the long hallway, murmuring with one another. He nodded in approval, making his way back to his fallen partner and kneeling behind him. "So," he said quietly, slipping back into English. "Gonna apologize?"

"For what?!" Christophe spat. " _You_ apologize to _me,_ Deeckhole!"

Kyle scoffed, reaching under Christophe and grunting, struggling to set him back upright. "Keep it down. And I'm not the one who blew your cover," he murmured. "But you almost just blew mine."

Christophe groaned, leaning his head back. "I am _sorry_ ," he drawled. "I 'ave not slept for days, geeve me some slack!"

"Uh huh," he muttered, bending down and wrestling between his belt and waistband, pulling out a paperclip and focusing on his partner's cuffs as he unbent it. He bit his tongue in concentration as he placed the wire into the keyhole, genially beginning to bend it to the shape of the lock. "Are you all right?" he asked, a softness breaking back into his tone.

He sighed, nodding. "Oui. Peessed to sheet, but I am fine."

"What even happened? You weren't that close to the target, were you?"

Christophe grumbled, "Fuckeeng tree broke. Landed on guards walkeeng by. I fuckeeng messed up."

Kyle looked up at the back of his head as he continued to finagle the wire. "Tophe. It happens. You didn't mess up, you can't control a fucking branch."

"Non. But I could 'ave chosen a better place to 'ide," he scoffed, shaking his head at himself. He groaned as the first cuff popped from around his raw wrist, bringing it back around himself and sighing. Kyle walked back around front with his other wrist still ensnared, working on it as he stared at his partner firmly.

"If there was a better place, you would have found it. Don't beat yourself up over this. We've all blown our covers. Some of us more than others," he rolled his eyes.

Christophe couldn't help but snort, looking down as he was relinquished at last from the metal monstrosity and rubbing at his wrists. "Oui, but _you_ lose your cover because of ozer people. Not usually yourself."

He smirked, "Well. Guess I have more people as enemies and nature is finally rebelling for you always throwing your smokes on the ground."

"Zere ees a reason eet ees called _Mozer_ Nature," he scoffed, slowly standing and stretching his legs, cracking his neck with a sigh. "Nozeeng but a spiteful 'arpy."

Kyle rolled his eyes with a quiet laugh. "Some of us _like_ and _miss_ our mothers, you know."

"Only pussies," he teased, leaning down and stealing a quick kiss. Kyle hummed, returning the favor before they both straightened up and turned to the cell door, faces turning darker. "So. 'ow do we get out?"

"Same as always. Distract and destroy," he drawled, reaching down and undoing his belt to unbutton his pants.

Christophe cocked his brow. "You want to deestract zem weez your deeck?"

"Well, one, that's a tried and true method of mine," he reminded him, getting a soft glare from Christophe. "But no." He winced, reaching down his pantleg to a strap around his thigh and snagging two folded Ontario XM-1's, handing one to Christophe. "We get 'em down, we grab their guns, and we sneak out leaving as little of a body trail as we can."

"Ah. Ze professional way zen?"

He smirked as he redid his pants, "I know. Out of our comfort zone, but we need to be subtle. We have…" he glanced down at his watch and grimaced. "Two hours. I got us a flight back to the states, but we need to hurry. Took me longer than expected to talk my way in here."

"'ow deed you?" he questioned.

"Flatter the boss and you can get anywhere you want," he scoffed, both flipping their blades out of their hold. "All right," he murmured, reaching down and grabbing the discarded cuffs from the floor. "We kill the lower ones, we get an escape route from the fuck with the keys."

"And zen we keell 'eem, oui?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Yes, Christophe. We'll avenge your pride or whatever."

"Bien," he nodded in approval.

Kyle snorted a bit, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. He pointed to the front left corner of the room, Christophe taking his direction and concealing himself in the corner of the wall beside the bars, crouching in the slightest to pounce. He nodded and Kyle smacked his lips, making way to the front of the cage and clearing his throat, sticking his opened knife in his back pocket. Thin hands wrapped around the cell door, rattling it incessantly. _"¡Ayuda! ¡Él escapó! ¡Está intentando matarme!"_ he screeched, kicking the iron a few times to make more of a ruckus.

The hurried sound of heavy footsteps began approaching, Kyle swiftly moving himself to the other front corner and holding the handcuffs, sharing a quick look with Christophe. The guards made it to the door, Kyle continuing to cry out in 'panic' while he bent his legs and pivoted towards the entrance. The three of them burst in, Kyle on the move before they'd crossed the threshold. He snagged the leader's arms and wrenched them back as Christophe grabbed one of the others to get the opposition lessened against Kyle's mission. The handcuffs snapped around thick wrists as Kyle rocketed his foot into the small of the man's back, sending him spiraling onto the ground in a heap.

His shout was drowned out with the panicked screech of Christophe's hold, a blade slipping in and out of his neck with ease through the internal jugular and the man thrown aside into the wall. He crashed with a gasp, trying to stop the blood flow and clawing at the floor. Kyle leapt onto the third, following example, ripping his weapon out of his pocket and grunting as he had to reach up to stab through his neck. He yelped at the man's hand coming up and tearing at his hair to get him away, twisting the blade to carry it through the skin and out the other side of his throat. The fingers in his curls lessoned and he shoved the man aside, letting him crumple and choke while Christophe snagged their fallen guns away from their reach and put the straps over his shoulder.

Kyle turned his attention down to the leader and narrowed his eyes, kicking him onto his back and straddling over his waist, blade pressing up and under his chin while Christophe remained on guard to keep the other two at bay while they struggled to cling onto life. He leaned down towards the man's face, glaring fiercely. _"Dime la forma más rápida de salir de aquí,"_ he demanded, pressing harder into his chin.

He snarled, _"Vete ala mierda."_

He smirked, leaning closer and clucking his tongue in disapproval. _"Puedo matarte rápidamente o tomar mi tiempo. Depende de tu respuesta."_ He scraped the blade along his neck, his eyes piercing the man beneath him.

Christophe looked back at a croaking groan from his victim against the wall as he settled with a shuddery, choking breath, unable to help the curl up his lips. He glanced back down at Kyle still locked in his staring contest. "Petit renard, _'urry up_ ," he insisted. "We need to get out of 'ere."

"Told him if he tells me where to go I'll let him die _much_ easier," he hissed, his stare never wavering. "Bastard just needs to _answer_."

"Just keell 'eem zen, before zere are more of zem."

Kyle leaned tilted the man's head with his blade, ignoring the infuriation seeping between his teeth as he leaned down towards his ear, fluidly sliding back into Spanish. _"You tortured my fucking boyfriend, Asshole,"_ he informed him. _"And I know the places to cut for the slowest way to bleed you out. So, speak up or lie here for fifteen minutes fighting for your fucking life."_

He paused, brown eyes straining to look up at him and shaking his head. "No."

" _Fine_ ," he shrugged, scooting back and plunging the knife down into his outer shoulder, unfazed by the scream ripping out of his throat. The blade slid just a few inches before Kyle tore it out, repeating on the opposite arm. Christophe watched with a smug smirk, observing how _so very careful_ he was being to avoid the subclavian, how he carved so precisely like a trained chef. Kyle got to his feet, kicking him back onto his stomach and turning to Christophe, snapping down his knife. "Well. Guess we're on our own here," he worked out coolly over the pained shouts of the man.

"Let's get out before zis asshole wakes up ze entire fuckeeng complex," he rolled his eyes, handing Kyle one of the guns from his shoulder. Kyle held it up, narrowing his eyes a bit at it. Christophe snorted. "Point and shoot, petit renard."

"Oh. Wow. _Thanks_ ," he drawled. "Remind me why you didn't become an instructor at the agency?"

Christophe smirked, leading him towards the cell door and poking his head out looking for anyone lingering about. "Because my gradeeng was 'eld to too 'igh of standards."

Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly. "Oh please. Student bums you a smoke and they'd get to skip the rest of the semester."

"Do not joke about zat, I 'ave not 'ad one in _days_ ," he whined, waving him to follow and heading down the hall, rushing towards the door to the outside. Kyle slammed the cell door shut, flipping off the man trying to roll himself over and pry apart his cuffs still shouting angrily into the floor before dashing off after him. They looked up the flight of stairs towards the outside, twisting their lips. "'ow many deed you see?"

"Too many for comfort," Kyle muttered, looking along the side wall. "I saw a window on my way in though, maybe a ten-foot drop, but into grass and clear of guards from what I could tell." He hummed, eyeing a closed door back down the hallway and signaling Christophe to follow him as he briskly moved towards it. Kyle placed his ear up against the wood, listening for any foreign sounds. He glanced up at the scrawled paper sign reading _'Sala de conferencias'_ , nodding to himself and trying the handle. It didn't budge and he sighed irritably. "Can you kick this thing down?"

Christophe smirked but moved into place, motioning for Kyle to back up as a heavy combat boot slammed beside the knob, the door bursting open and both whirling to the sides of the entrance. They waited a beat for movement, turning and looking to see nothing more than a darkened room with tables, stacked chairs, and a lone window. They glanced at the shadowed corners, sighing in relief at the bareness and stepping through the threshold. "Could not get ze beeg, bad door on your own?" Christophe teased.

"I've kicked enough things for a bit, my leg is killing me," Kyle scoffed, leading him to the pane. "Can you boost me or are you too hurt?"

Christophe shook his head, moving his gun to rest against his back and bending down to cup his hands. He grunted as Kyle stepped into his palms and he lifted him up the extra foot he needed, resting him on his knee. Kyle growled, struggling to unlatch the pane from the rust buildup. "Goddammit," he hissed. "Come _on_!" he snapped, ripping his arm back and nearly smacking himself in the face as it finally unhooked. He sighed, pushing the pane up and wrapping his fingers around the sill. "Can you lift me higher?"

"'ang on," he said, taking a deep breath before slowly beginning to stand himself up with a wince. Kyle was light as they came, and he'd carried him time and again until Kyle beat his way out of his grasp in a huff, but all the weight in his aching fingers was not benefitting either of them.

Kyle scrambled his way up, arms resting on the ledge and trying to take the weight from Christophe, keeping sharp eyes peeled for passersby. He grunted in approval of nothing but the bare side of another building and seemingly empty space below. He caught a glimpse of a small ledge running along the building a few feet down and gulped at the long drop waiting for them. "Okay. Little more than ten feet, definitely misjudged that. But I have a ledge I can stand on to help you climb up. Unless you have a better idea."

"Non," he shook his head. "Eef you zink eet works, zen we do zat, we 'ave no time for other plans."

"Right," he nodded, slipping his gun off and turning on the safety, dropping it to the side. "Hand 'em both to me once I'm out." Christophe grunted in acknowledgement as Kyle began lifting himself up and shimmying out the window. Kyle gulped, biting his lip as he left the safety of Christophe's hands to swing his right leg up onto the sill. "God," he muttered. "Why can't these places ever have windows near the floor?"

Christophe shook his head, keeping his hands ready to spot him. "Because zen _anyone_ could do our job."

"I don't think so," he snorted, groaning as he swung himself up and out, body twisting awkwardly and hands keeping a tight clasp around the brick as he reached down, stretching his toes until hitting the ledge just barely big enough to hold his shoe. "Okay," he whispered, maneuvering for his other foot to follow and taking a deep breath. "Guns." Christophe nodded, snagging them both and checking the safety locks before handing them up towards him. Kyle grabbed them by the barrels and pulled them out of the window, clumsily slipping them around his shoulder while Christophe made quick work to snag the table and drag it towards the wall. Kyle kept his head swiveling, glancing down below and back up the barely-visible opening just under his eyeline at the door of the conference room.

Christophe bit his lip, hopping up on the table and putting his hands on the ledge, leaning back and taking a deep breath before hopping up and flopping himself halfway through the window, hissing at the sill digging into his ribs. "Fuckeeng _sheet_!"

Kyle just sighed, scooching over and reaching his hand up to help him swing his leg out. "Careful," he warned. "Even my feet don't fit too well here." Christophe snorted, halfway to making a snide comment on his size before a warning glare stopped him in his tracks. He coughed a bit, moving to slide out and beside him, both swallowing and glancing down for anyone on the lookout. "All right," Kyle said, very genially pulling the guns back off himself. "I'll jump. You toss these down and follow. Then we break for it."

"Be careful," Christophe said quietly, getting a small smile from the man before they slowly turned around, both with a hand around the window for stability.

Kyle gulped, turning his feet straight out and narrowing his eyes. Maybe only eighteen feet up. He'd done worse jumps and only ended up with a bruised arm, this was a cakewalk. He grunted, bashing down any hint of worry and taking the leap, feeling Christophe watching him in trepidation. He gritted his teeth, extending his feet towards the ground tilted down in the slightest. He put out his arms, gasping as the balls of his feet hit the ground, body springing forward on impact as he tucked his left shoulder down and rolled to his right hip. He took a shaking breath as he found himself upright and crouched in the grass, feeling the slightest twinge in his knee but little else. Kyle gathered his bearings, getting to his feet and holding his hands up towards Christophe.

Christophe tossed one firearm down, waiting for it to hit Kyle's hand and get moved out of the way before lobbing the other. Kyle snagged the second from midair, turning off the safety and holding it up, ears and eyes wide open as Christophe made his descent. He glanced as the telltale thud and shuffle of grass came behind him, watching Christophe landing in his crouch with a hiss and grabbing at his ankle.

"Shit," he muttered, moving over and helping him up. "You all right?"

"Landed wrong," he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I noticed. Can you run or not?" he demanded, handing him his weapon. Christophe nodded, standing up straighter with him, ignoring the sharp pain down his foot. That could be dealt with later, they had to get out of this godforsaken prison. Kyle waved him along, the two of them rushing towards the back of the building. They hugged the wall, glancing out into the open area down a small hill, Kyle squinting a bit from their higher elevation and seeing a road off in the distance over a rotting fence topped with spiraling wire. "Okay. There's our out. We get over the fence, ditch the guns, and make our way through as tourists. Think we can handle that?"

He nodded, "Oui. Do we shoot 'eem or not?" he jerked his head towards a tall figure lingering at the back of the building scrolling through a phone.

Kyle groaned under his breath. "No. That's the boss. Well, one of them at least. Shooting him this out in the open would be suicide."

"'ow do we make eet past zen?"

Kyle handed him his gun, wiping bloodstains from his palms off on the back of his dark pants. "I'll distract him, you make a fucking dash out of here. I'll be behind you as soon as you get over the fence."

"Kyle, I am _not_ leaveeng you alone weez 'eem!" he argued.

He rolled his eyes, "I've been _alone with him_ already," he hissed. "Now shut up. Wait for my signal, and you fucking sneak out of here as quickly as you can. I'll meet you at the road. Do you understand me?" Christophe opened his mouth to argue before steely green eyes sliced over him like machetes and he frowned.

"Fine."

Kyle nodded, making his way out into the open and walking towards the man, the noise catching his attention immediately and looking up with a smirk. _"Ah, mira quién despierta por fin."_

Kyle smiled sweetly, stepping up beside him and giving a simple shrug, trying to bat off a bout of nauseated anger at the man before him as he reminded himself to stay as 'the innocent, foreign accountant from Canada'. "Hard to wake up after a night with you," he cooed fluently, moving around him like a shark, letting his feet slide over the ground with grace. He maneuvered himself to the other side, the man's head turned completely away from Christophe's escape line. He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair and flicking his fingers off and away from his head as he remained locked in the criminal's gaze.

Christophe growled, considering moving forward and slicing off the strange man's head before catching Kyle's signal and sighing to himself. He promised to go, he had no choice at this point. He began slipping out and away, staying close to the wall and keeping his eyes flickering between his wooden-fence target and Kyle casually making conversation with the man. His lip curled into a snarl, glancing around the back of another building and calling it clear before dashing off to the fence.

Kyle glanced in his direction, eyes hidden under thick lashes and a shy, tilted head. He sighed in relief. Good, he was starting his ascent of the unfinished wood, carefully tilting himself to stay off the barbed wire. Kyle smirked to himself. Lithe as a cat, just like he'd showed him. He glanced back up at the smiling man and he cleared his throat, running his fingers up his chest with a genial touch. "So… easy for you to wake up then?"

He grinned, cupping Kyle's cheek. "Not as easy as you may think. I had no choice, would have rather stayed in bed with you, my dear," he purred, leaning down and kissing Kyle's neck.

Kyle hummed, glancing back over, seeing Christophe dropping over the fence and licking over his lips, letting the man continue to pepper his skin. "Well. If you're not busy now…" he shrugged innocently, feeling a grin spreading over his shoulder. Kyle rolled his eyes to himself at the sensation, taking a deep breath and reminding himself to play the part for this fool. With gentle, urging fingers, he pried the man up and away from his neck, leading him to his lips.

The man threaded his hand through his hair, Kyle nearly hissing as the kiss turned vicious, his tongue invading his mouth and sloppily ravaging its chosen space. Kyle forced himself to moan into it, pressing back as his free hand slowly glided towards his back pocket. His eyes opened as he tore out his blade and flicked it open, twisting and grasping it with tight, whitened knuckles. He tilted their heads in the slightest, fingers wrapping around the man's hair and holding him steady. Kyle moaned again, pressing harder and blocking off as much of his mouth as he could manage as his arm flew back from around him and stabbed into the side of the man's neck.

He choked, trying to pull back, Kyle refusing to let him move as his fingers tore at his hair and skin, keeping his sounds subdued within his own mouth. He swallowed every decibel of agony as he slashed straight through, getting a spattering of blood whisked across his face. The man's mouth fell slack, body drooping with it. Kyle finally pulled back with a shaking breath, spitting his taste back in his face and shoving him backwards as he fell into unconsciousness. He wiped his mouth and folded his blade back, giving him a final glare. "Not yours."

* * *

Even surrounded by nothing but the hustle and bustle of normal townsfolk going about their day, Christophe felt far too vulnerable without the guns left discarded in the field across the way. He sighed, leaning against the sign for a store claiming a sale on all its products, far too bright and pronounced for tired Christophe's tastes. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple, trying to beat back worried palpitations in his chest. Kyle could handle himself. Usually. Just as Christophe could handle himself. _Usually_.

He opened his eyes, looking up at a partly clouded sky, the grey almost misleading with how goddamn _hot_ it was. He wondered if he was slipping. What if Kyle hadn't come back for him? Would the agency have gotten him out? Or would he have just been shot through the head when they realized he wasn't going to give them the intel they apparently wanted? He shook his head with a sigh. He knew he shouldn't dwell on it, and the subject would be dropped within the next few days as it always was, as he'd trained himself to do. But for now, it was weighing him down, he was sinking under the burden of his failures. He'd missed the target, he'd endangered himself _and_ Kyle. It wasn't an easy job, no one in their right mind would claim otherwise. And no matter how good someone was at the job, they were _always_ susceptible to failure, to capture, to death.

Sometimes he just thought himself over such disappointments, naïve as it was.

He jerked back as something came into his face, looking down to see a lit cigarette clutched between thin fingers. He glanced down the arm to see Kyle looking at him with a sad smile and his shirt turned inside-out. "Got you a pack," he said quietly.

Christophe snagged the cigarette from his fingers, putting it between his teeth and clasping his hand. Kyle took his hand back and shook his head. He cleared his throat and tugged at his sleeve, leading him down the way between two shops into a barren alleyway out of public view. "What? What ees wrong?" Christophe asked him, looking for enemies nearby.

Kyle smiled gently, "Peruvians aren't always the coolest with this kinda thing," he said, moving up onto his toes and taking the cigarette from his mouth once more, planting his lips in its place. Christophe blinked before sinking down against him, arms sliding up Kyle's back and holding him closely. They finally allowed themselves a moment of reprieve, forgetting that they had a plane to catch. Forgetting that they'd cut down a handful of lives and were nearly caught up in a trafficking scheme. Remembering for a rare moment that they weren't merely codenames and mercenaries, they were Christophe and Kyle; nothing more, nothing less.

Christophe pulled back in the slightest, laughing warmly against his lips. "You took one of my smokes," he teased, tasting it as it lingered on his tongue.

Kyle shrugged. "Had a bad taste to get out of my mouth." He pecked him again before letting his feet plant back against the ground, reaching up and putting his cigarette back into place. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

Christophe sighed, reaching down and reclaiming his hand, taking note once more, as he always did, of just how small Kyle was compared to himself. He was made like porcelain, every pale inch of flesh barely concealing the bones lingering beneath. Kyle had revealed to him the year prior that it was because of illness, a self-contained strain of type-one diabetes forcing him to always be cautionary about what was put in his body. It'd been an eye-opener for Christophe, watching him for the first time as he took his insulin, realizing that the man he considered to be unbreakable and able to worm his way out of anything was defenseless to his own body. It was a body that worried him, that he'd learned in their two years with one another was full of frailties. He was a weak immune system that had him laid up with pneumonia if Christophe caught a cold. He bruised like a peach, never bothered by them but always showcasing them, whether from Christophe's possessive holdings or otherwise.

Christophe himself was callouses and meat on his bones. He was fit, but stocky. Kyle liked to call him his tank, his meat shield. Christophe was a fan of lightly tracing his hands around Kyle's form, letting every inch of him be met with a featherlight touch when they weren't rutting against one another like dogs. But Kyle loved to grab, to squeeze, to smile at an arm that both his hands could barely wrap around. He adored every solid inch of him, worshipped him like a Grecian god. But, Christophe was no god. If anything close to being so revered, he was Achilles, and the man with steps light as freshly fallen snow was his vulnerable heel.

"I am fine," he finally answered, squeezing his fingers in the slightest. "I am… just steell so peessed," he grumbled, letting out a long stream of smoke. "I 'ave not completely failed a meession een a long time."

Kyle watched it as it rose towards the sky, so fervently climbing only to dissipate before it met its goal. He sighed, itching to snag another of his cigarettes but keeping himself from doing so. Christophe needed them more than he did, he'd been through a lot the past few days. He let his gaze drop back onto his face, lingering on the prominent bruising of his left brow bone. Kyle frowned, gripping his hand back, his fingers lightly petting his knuckles. "You didn't fail," he told him softly. "We have more information on them that we can send to the agency. They can send other people that aren't known faces to finish the job. You did fine, Tophe."

"Non. _You_ deed fine. You deed what you set out to do," he bit, locking stares with him and feeling his chest wrench at the disappointed expression taking over Kyle's face. "I 'ate zis agency bullsheet."

"You and me both," he sighed, squeezing his hand. "But if we were rogues… I wouldn't have known you were captured," he winced. "They can track you, I can't."

He rolled his eyes, "You are ze smartest person I know, petit renard. You would 'ave known."

He frowned, "Christophe, I can hack. I can send false flags. I can do a lot of things with a computer, but I can't mirror the agency's tracking. I would've known something went wrong, but I wouldn't have known whether you were just captured or killed. And besides, they pay us better than independent contracting," he smirked a bit.

"Speakeeng of zose bastards, zough," he cocked his brow, ashing off beside them and taking another drag. "Why deed _you_ come get me out? Zat ees not your job."

Kyle snorted, "When have we _ever_ not made getting one another out of trouble our job?" he asked, Christophe pausing. He had a point. "And… I called the agency, tried to get them to come with a hostage exchange," he sighed. "You're too fucking good for this gig, you know that?"

He blinked, "What do you mean?"

"One of you is worth about thirty of _them_ ," he jerked his head back in the direction of the complex. "They weren't willing to part with such a high number of leads. Which, I find fucking hilarious. You're worth half their fucking operation but apparently we were supposed to just leave you to die."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Zis fuckeeng business makes no fuckeeng sense."

He nodded, leaning forward and resting his head against his chest, smiling a bit at lips pressing into his hair. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispered, moving to wrap his free arm around him.

Christophe looked down and huffed out a quiet laugh, kissing his hair again. "Because of you. Zough eef you shove me over een a chair again I weell reep off your feengers."

He grinned wider, trailing said fingers over the small of his back. "That'd be more a loss on your part than mine." Christophe rolled his eyes with a smirk, taking another drag and holding Kyle's hand just a little bit tighter, smoke and their reassured, synchronized sighs traveling up and fading off into the silver sky.


	3. Chapter 3

Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.

When he'd been drafted into this damn field, no one warned him of the most threatening element of the job: Death by tedium.

Christophe groaned, flopping back listlessly on the sofa, an arm and leg listlessly hanging off the edge as he held his dossier up against the overhead light. Eyes half-lidded as he scanned through his completion report, he couldn't help but sigh, lazily flapping his free arm towards the coffee table and his pack of smokes.

' _Target: Henio Alcocer  
Location: Arequipa_, _Peru  
Status: At large, previous assassination attempt failed  
Mission Agent: Mole_

 _Agent captured in the field, was unable to complete duties. Compensated for airfare and travel accommodations. Interviews with agent and partner (Photuris) revealed partner liberated agent. Neither compensated for mission, partner given compensation for intel gathered for next mission. Agent recommended to undergo retraining course.'_

He grumbled to himself, narrowing his eyes at that nail in the coffin. There it was. Three weeks later and he finally got his report back, no money and no credibility to be had with it. Well, aside from the _pittance_ that they gave Kyle for a near-complete compound map and one leader down and dead. It was nothing short of an insult to them both, the check barely enough to cover their rent for the next month considering just how much they'd risked getting out of there. They had more than enough stashed away to outright _buy_ their home base, but it was the _principle_. As Kyle had muttered after their interviews ended, it was only to be expected when the client's request wasn't met, but it was still a slap in the face.

Given, they'd found themselves more than used to that over the years. Kyle's going had been rough from the start, given the codename of a _femme_ fatale firefly after his trainer observed him working in the field. _"Quick, deadly, and glowing,"_ he'd originally told Kyle. But he was never one to let a name come to him without research, finding he'd been struck with so feminine a codename that he could never escape from. It was still humiliating to the man, knowing well enough how other agents would snicker, would comment on how _well_ it fit. He could never deny his method, standing quietly if cooperating with another team while they hee-and-hawed about it. Christophe never called him Photuris, both for Kyle's sake and his own, neither willing to confirm nor deny his trademark.

Christophe, on the other hand, was still dealing with looks of disappointment from their superiors in the few times they met in the past two years. After all, abandoning his prior partner for Kyle was _"foolish and rash"._ He'd been paired with Gregory for a reason, just as Kyle had been given Luis. Getting all the schematics sorted out had been hell, Gregory fighting tooth and nail to keep Christophe on his team and Luis losing his temper and nearly breaking Kyle's arm when he'd tried to depart. They'd cost the agency time and money, which they figured they'd _more_ than made up for over the course of their time together with so many successes and so much credibility stashed under their belts.

Didn't matter right now though. And it wouldn't until the next success.

"You keep reading it but it's not gonna change," a quiet voice broke through his glaring. He turned his head, seeing Kyle moving towards him rustling a towel through his dampened curls. Christophe grunted, turning back towards the paper stubbornly. Kyle rolled his eyes. "Tophe, let it _go_."

"Non. We got _screwed_ ," he spat. "Zis ees bullsheet."

"I know," he agreed. "But fact of the matter is we signed off on it and got our check. We can't question it anymore. It's been three weeks, Tophe."

He frowned, "And we 'ave gotten no ozer meessions."

Kyle sighed, tossing his towel onto the coffee table and combing his fingers through his hair to work out knots. "We've had longer dry spells than this before, and after _successful_ missions. I'm sure something will come along."

"Or zey are just waiteeng us out unteel we run out of money."

He cocked his brow, "Then they're gonna be waitin' a few years. We have _plenty_ stashed away. Now c'mon." He snatched the paper out of Christophe's hand, ignoring his scowl as he balled it up and tossed it behind his shoulder, looking down at him firmly. "We'll be fine. We weren't fired. We weren't even _lectured_."

"Non, _you_ were not lectured," he grumbled, finally bending a bit to snag his cigarettes and light one up in a fluid motion. He pulled back his smoke and sighed, drowning in tobacco's slight numb. "Zey want me to train again."

Kyle shrugged, "So? I go every three years for a training session. Nothing wrong with it."

"Zere _ees_ ," he sighed. "I 'ave never 'ad to."

Kyle stared at him, heaving a deep breath and moving over to sit on the edge of the couch in front of his stomach. "Tophe. It's not an insult. It's to get you to your top."

"We _are_ ze top," he reminded him sharply, Kyle wincing. "I fuck up _once_ een over two years and zey pull zis sheet?"

He shrugged, "We're still kind of the… _scandalous_ partnership. They've probably just been waiting for you to not take a target down to bring this up."

"Exactly," he said thickly, taking another long drag. "Deedn't get zees treatment my last meess."

Kyle reached forward, cupping his cheek in his hand and giving him a bit of a smile. "Listen, just ignore them. They only suggested the training, they didn't mandate it. Buck up, we'll get the next one." Christophe gave him a _'hmph_ ' focusing down on his cigarette. Kyle shook his head. Christophe could so easily fly between the extremes, being an immovable monster of a man with a bloodlust or a giant goddamn _child_ throwing a tantrum. He hummed, turning further to the side and propping himself up over Christophe's pouting form. He leaned down and kissed his forehead, hazel eyes hitting him hard. "They may treat you like shit," he said casually, lips trailing down and to his cheek. "But _I_ can treat you _real_ nice."

Christophe couldn't help but shake his head. "Not goeeng to work, petit renard."

"Oh?" he smirked, moving down and nipping at his neck, Christophe's head following his lead. "I think everything we need works _just fine_ ," he purred, fingers brushing their way down to hover at his waist, fingertip just brushing over his vacant beltloop. Christophe shifted a bit with a gulp, nearly flinching at another bite. "You can take _all_ those frustrations out on me," he enticed, breath unbearably hot against his throat. "I think that'd make you feel better."

"You are deestracteeng me," he huffed, hips bucking up and growling in frustration as Kyle's hand moved away, denying him contact. Kyle's favorite goddamn game: His utter compliance and full attention before anything was touched.

Kyle hummed, kissing under his mandible, "Am _I_ distracting you? Or are _you_? Can't stop thinkin' 'bout what you can do to me, can ya?" he teased, Christophe groaning under his breath and his cigarette trembling in his fingers. Well. He wasn't exactly _wrong_. "Whatever you want," Kyle offered. "You can just lie back and let me do all the work, or you can get _all_ that anger out right here, right now."

Christophe grunted, free hand flying down and over to slap against Kyle's ass under thin pajama pants, relishing in the sharp hiss leaking through his teeth. "I do not zink you want zat," he murmured. "I am peessed enough to 'urt you."

"Then _do it_ ," he challenged, leaning up and looking down at him with a sly grin. "Remember that time you made me cry?" he cooed, tugging a lock of brown hair. Christophe gulped, both pride and guilt battling one another out over the memory. Parts of it were still hazy, all he remembered was Kyle giving him a full go-ahead when he was in a particularly bad mood and a lot of heavy impacts under his palm, Kyle being practically thrown around the room before Christophe finished and came out of his haze. His anger had been dissolved, but he'd come back to Kyle curled up and gasping for breath, shaking with tears trailing down his face and enough bruises to get him goddamn _arrested_. Christophe had never been so confused as when he panicked and tried to help him up and Kyle just kissed him and grinded against him, still moaning and scratching through his crying. It was simultaneously the best and the _worst_ sexual experience of Christophe's life, and he'd been wondering nearly a year now if the results could be repeated.

" _You were crying_ ," he had said, dabbing ointments over cuts and carpet burns garnered nearly ten minutes after Kyle had finished and Christophe had stopped his tears.

Kyle had blinked slowly, laying over his lap and looking up at him, _"Really?"_

" _You… you do not remember?"_ he'd asked in shock, cotton swab pausing on a nick on his shoulder.

He'd shaken his head, eyes closing and falling limberly against his thighs. _"No… I was pretty damn gone. I… I think I'm hitting a hell of a drop, though,"_ he'd murmured.

Christophe had nodded, knowing from past drops what entailed and slowly sitting him up to lean against his chest. Kyle had tremored, a prickle of fear trying to take hold before strong, golden arms gently clasped around his waist, chapped lips pressing against the back of his neck and words of praise and comfort washed over him like a warm lather. _"Je suis désolé,"_ he'd whispered, gently rubbing his back, avoiding obvious marks.

Kyle had shaken his head, _"Don't be. If I wanted you to stop, I'd say so."_

" _Not eef you cannot figure out where you are-"_

" _I always know where I am with you,"_ he'd interrupted. _"Gets a little fuzzy sometimes but that's a good thing. I don't get fuzzy with… others,"_ he'd muttered, looking down at his legs. _"I never feel safe, everything is crystal clear and honestly, terrifying. Here I can just… go away a little. But I know where I am, and I know you'd never_ actually _hurt me."_

Christophe had frowned, looking at the starting marks and heaving a deep sigh. _"Obveeously I would."_

" _If I'd called the word, you would've snapped back and stopped. You have before, you'd do it again,"_ he'd mumbled, sinking back against him and letting his head limply roll into his chest. _"Stop giving us both so little credit. I trust you."_

Christophe's eyes smoldered, free hand coming up and cupping Kyle's cheek. Kyle leaned into his palm, watching him with curiosity. "What?"

"Nozeeng," he huffed, leaning up and stealing a quick kiss. "Was zere ever a time when you deed not solve problems weez your deeck?"

Kyle snorted, giving him a shrug, "Hey, found my talent in high school. Forgive me for honing in on it. Not that you've ever complained." He laughed at a small tug against his curls. He hummed, turning his head and nipping at his wrist. "C'monnnn," he taunted. "We both fuckin' know I can talk you into it, why not skip this foreplay bullshit?"

Christophe smirked, taking another drag and blowing it into his face, watching his nose scrunch with slight irritation. "Because you need to work for eet."

He cocked his brow, sitting back a bit and resting on Christophe's hips. "So, let me get this straight: _I_ have to do the work for _you_ to fuck _me_ so _you_ feel better. That hardly seems fair."

"Not zat you've ever complained," he echoed, loving the twitching smirk hitting Kyle's lips. "You can start zees meession by getting me a dreenk," he flicked his thigh.

Kyle scoffed, "Want me to put on a fucking _bar wench_ outfit while I'm at it?"

"Non, zough you 'ave ze legs for eet."

"Pretty sure my tits wouldn't quite pop, though," he snorted, leaning down and pecking his lips. "Fine," he conceded. "Lucky for you I'm feeling _generous_." Christophe just smiled, lazily swatting at his ass as he moved to stand and make way towards their kitchen. Kyle yawned and stretched as he walked, scratching through his wet hair and shivering as his bare feet hit the tile floor awaiting him. At least he got Christophe's mind off of that goddamn dossier, that's what was important.

He hated seeing him like this, so mopey and angry at himself. No matter how many times he emphasized that it was just a stroke of bad luck that hit him, Christophe couldn't seem to shake a feeling of failure from off his shoulders. It was simmering, and Kyle knew from only a couple of similar instances in the past he had a fine-eyed amount of time to get him out of it before he just flat-out left for a few days to work off the fury away from him. The first time had made him suspicious as to his intentions before Christophe came back home four days later coated in earth and smelling like death. Hunting, he'd told him. Taking out all that anger on deer and other populous wildlife. He just needed something to redirect it onto, but once it hit that certain point, Christophe knew himself well enough to know that if Kyle hit his nerves wrong, that anger could be pointed towards him and turn out disastrous.

Kyle sighed through his nose, ripping open their fridge and lazily scanning around, clicking his teeth and digging back behind a collection of coffee creamer and energy drinks before finding a half-full pack of beer. He frowned, not wanting to have to deal with going to the store, but as little as they kept around the house considering their typically-hectic schedule, their supplies were depleting fairly fast. If Kyle had to be honest, he was starting to get agitated, too. He was fidgety without work to be done, neither of them liked being so full of downtime. But, there was nothing to be done about it other than just waiting.

He shook his head, snagging two bottles from their cardboard hold and pulling them back out of the fridge, shutting the door and starting to turn before he was jerked back, a hand slapping over his mouth and the bottles slipping from his grasp to land with hard _thunks_ against the tile. He yelled out, flinching at an arm snagging around his own and forcing him back into a thick chest.

A familiar scent of earthy musk flooded him, eyes straining as hot breath hit his ear. "Do not look at me," Christophe hissed. Kyle blinked, but cooperated, eyes turning back forward and struggling to breathe through his nose with a finger nearly blocking off his nostrils. He grunted, shivering at that moist air pulsing over the nape of his neck. "All alone?" Christophe taunted, staring hungrily at a barely-visible crook of his throat. "Who would be _stupeed_ enough to leave somezing so _preetty_ all by zemselves?"

Kyle couldn't help the small, floundering quirk of both a smile and a scowl, the dramatic roll of his eyes. Christophe fucking loved that, calling him pretty and watching him get angry and defensive. It was always different than how _others_ insulted him in similar fashion. Christophe meant it lightheartedly, had a teasing tone that he shared with no one _but_ Kyle, and he simply relished in his privilege, regardless of being the butt of his joke. He shifted slightly and Christophe jostled him back into stillness, squeezing around his arms hard enough for his eyes to scrunch shut in slight pain. "Come on," he demanded, moving to turn Kyle and start leading him towards their room. Christophe smirked as Kyle shook his head with a muffled whine and began to squirm, bare feet slipping cartoonishly across the kitchen floor.

He grunted, twisting around to drag Kyle behind him, Kyle trying to bite at his palm and plant his exposed toes against trim as he was pulled along. He couldn't help a low-seated chuckle, feeling frustration quickly beginning to mount while Kyle cursed his lean, vertically challenged self as he was easily manipulated to move to his 'captor's' dictation. They hit the corner of their short hallway harboring their bedroom and bathroom, Kyle easily sliding along polished hardwood flooring as he wriggled.

Christophe grinned, loving feeling Kyle fighting between letting him do as he wished or giving him a hell of a hard time getting to that point. It was always a favorite game of theirs, to see if Kyle would finally submit or if Christophe would get one-too-many punches to the face to continue and Kyle would have to make it up to him and do all the work himself. Christophe can't remember _when_ their game started, but it was almost routine at this point.

Kyle had lightheartedly called it sick and depraved, Christophe just called it _fun_.

Forcing the man yelling through muffled lips into their bedroom, Christophe pressed him forward in three long steps and shoved him down onto the bed, leaning overtop of him and pinning him under his weight. "Be good," he jeered, Kyle giving violent jerks in his grip. Christophe kept his weight bearing down his back, slipping his arm out from under him and wrangling his arms behind him.

Kyle cursed and spat, legs flailing trying to land a solid hit. The hand over his mouth squeezed, his wrists caught in the vice of a calloused palm. He sneered, jaw opening and head tilting to latch onto Christophe's finger, digging deep.

Christophe ripped his hand back, hissing and trying to shake out the beaming red indentations he'd left. "Leetle _beetch_ ," he snapped.

"Get the _fuck_ off of me!" Kyle yelled, stomach fluttering in undulating thrill as that hand made its return, swooping under his mouth and catching his throat in its stead. His eyes scrunched shut, lips parting in a natural exaggerated attempt to find the air being so lightly deprived from him. He yelped as the hand slid away, replaced by a muscular arm and finding himself nestled in the crook of Christophe's elbow and his neck squeezed. His teeth gritted as Christophe leaned down by his captured head, hot breath swelling in his ear and hard skin nestled between layers of fabric grinding against his ass. He wriggled, hissing at a warning squeeze as his head began to grow heavier, the sound of his adrenaline-fueled heart flooding his ears.

Christophe watched him carefully, knowing his tells well enough to find his indication to lessen his grip and allow him to swim his way back. Allowing him a few deep breaths, his eyes scanned the room, looking for something to tie him down. Careful consideration of finagling a makeshift binding from Kyle's sweater hung lazily on the bedpost was disrupted as a curly red head came flying back, smashing against his left eye. He hissed, jerking up just enough for Kyle to plant his feet upon the ground and firmly push his body weight back against him.

The sudden shift lessened Christophe's grip around his wrists, Kyle twisting enough to free himself from their hold and slip his neck from its prison. He dropped down between Christophe and the bed, arm raising to block another attempted grab at him and his other rearing back to slam his elbow in Christophe's shin. He dove out of the confinement and rolled into a crouch, looking up to see a very agitated Christophe and he gave him a sly smirk. "You really _do_ need that retraining, don't you?" he cooed.

Hazel eyes lit with fury, Kyle's entire being twisting in pure excitement at the promise of a chase to be had. He shifted in his lowered positioning, toes perched and waiting for Christophe to move towards him. He gave a sharp jerk of his neck, letting it crack and relax from the stress it'd been put under, lungs still demanding more oxygen to make up for lost time. But his eyes were alert, body poised.

"I need to eenvest in _drugs_ to keep you steell," Christophe rolled his eyes with a smirk, taunting him with small fake-out steps towards him, watching Kyle unable to keep from flinching in either direction.

He grinned, "Pretty pathetic you'd have to fucking _roofie_ _me_ to _win_."

"I do not _'ave to_ ," he said, shoulders rolling and loosening. "Leetle cock slut always caves."

A thin brow quirked, "Oh? Well, guess I should change that behavior to change it up, huh?" he asked, seeing the frustration mounting on his face. "Wouldn't want to _bore you_ , Christophe."

The empty threat got him moving, one step enough to bounce Kyle up into action back on his feet with his knees bent. He came around in a fast swoop to Christophe's side and launched forward, grabbing around his chest and knocking him onto his back hanging halfway off the bed.

" _Goddammeet_ ," Christophe bit, Kyle grinning victoriously as his hands planted Christophe's wrists on either side of his head, straddling over his torso and tonguing over his teeth.

He leaned down into Christophe's face, giving a soft nip against his bottom lip. "Maybe _I_ should be who retrains you," he purred.

Bushy brows furrowed. "Non," he spat, long legs still against the ground giving him the leverage needed to bring his weight up and forward, Kyle yelping as he flew back onto the hardwood floor in a sprawled heap with a loud _thunk_. He groaned, head shaking and trying to see straight again from the impact before weight was back overtop of him, his arms pinned up over his head. His sight focused well enough to see an unwavering expression of frustration. Christophe slammed his forearm over Kyle's trapped wrists, leaning down back into Kyle's face. "I train _you_ , petit renard."

Kyle gave him a small smirk, giving a half-assed attempt to shake loose before Christophe bore down onto his arms, forcing himself between his legs without so much as a blink from his intensified, warning stare. The tautness of Kyle's muscles sank, face falling into a comfortable, lusting hunger. _"Woof woof,_ " he murmured, craning his head up and snagging himself a kiss.

Christophe allowed himself to simmer in the slightest, Kyle's admitted defeat allowing his free hand to ride along his waist and down his thigh, tongue pushing and pulsing along side Kyle's. He hummed through a soft laugh, pulling back and watching Kyle whine and try to follow him up, still caught by his arms. "Leetle cock slut _always_ caves," he teased.

"He sure does," Kyle nodded, voice heavy and _hungry_ , lifting his hips to meet Christophe's. A happy, loud moan left him at a reciprocation, Christophe coming back down and digging his teeth mercilessly into his neck. Tears of pain pricked his eyes, body tremoring and each of Christophe's ruts driving him harder against the floor. His planted fists tightened, panting and writhing unabashedly as teeth and tongue picked him apart piece by piece to leave him a disjointed puddle on their bedroom floor.

Tension rolled off of Christophe's back with every press against him, his fury of the crumpled dossier in the living room far off and away as his focus fell to the man beneath him. He didn't know how Kyle managed it with nearly every turn, how his distractive mannerisms managed to trick him every goddamn time. How he took something so _infuriating_ and turned it into something so _delightful_. Well, he supposed, it was what made Kyle so damn good at his job. Or perhaps Kyle saved this kind of treatment for him and him alone. He couldn't be sure, he'd only been truly beside of Kyle a handful of times when they hit the field, usually working different angles to eventually converge on the common goalpost, but it wouldn't surprise him a bit if this was one side of the charm he utilized to worm his way into every nook and cranny of an operation.

A part of him swelled with pride for Kyle at the idea, as well as the hints of jealousy he'd always carried for being with one of such ease in blending into any situation and molding it in his hands like putty. But it was mutual, Kyle admitting more than once how he yearned for Christophe's physical intimidation and skill, only able to do so much himself with his speed and the hidden strength that could catch people off guard only _once_. More than one hit and they adjusted themselves accordingly to fend him off and he often found himself disadvantaged if left without a weapon and in a tight, inescapable corner. But with Christophe, there was usually more power needed than available if one wanted to match his abilities.

Said strength pressed harder into Kyle, earning him a louder, cracking moan and he grinned. This was all he'd needed, just this level of distraction, of Kyle allowing him the victory after he worked for it. How defeating so small a man into submission could renew his confidence, perhaps only he could ever understand. But, it was a point of pride, reminded him better than any goddamn mission that he knew what he was doing. After all, Kyle didn't let _any_ exploit slip by without notice, would fight until all mistakes were rectified. If he fell still and allowed Christophe his compliance, it meant he'd been left without choice, that Christophe had _earned it_.

He moved back up, taking Kyle's lips much to his delight, soaking in the warmth and pure joyous adrenaline radiating between them. His free hand came back to Kyle's face, stroking over his chin and getting a round of pleased moans and arching hips.

A sharp, obnoxious trill rang from the other room, both tearing apart and glancing towards the door at the familiar tone. " _Sheet_ ," Christophe muttered, releasing Kyle's arms and planting his hands on either side of his head to propel himself back onto his feet. He reached down, grabbing Kyle's hand and helping him haul himself back upwards as well.

Kyle was dizzy with the sudden change, nearly stumbling over himself as they hurried their way back into the main room, trying to fight down the massive, unfulfilled ache between his legs as he rushed to his agency phone situated on his desk. He almost dropped it in his haste, slamming it to his ear and running his fingers through his hair. "Photuris, 286952," he said in exasperation, moving to grab the pen and notepad beside his laptop, nodding along to the automated string of numbers following in a quick blurb.

Christophe watched from a short distance, squinting at a small trickle of red leaking down the back of Kyle's neck and frowning, moving to head off to the kitchen.

"8936-42587 confirmed," Kyle said, waiting for the recognition technology to goddamn catch up.

Finally, he heard an echoing "Confirmed, Photuris and Mole, 8936-42587," before the line was disconnected.

Kyle hummed, bringing the phone back down and hanging up, heaving a sigh. Fucking _horrific_ timing on the agency's part, but a mission was still a mission at the very least. Now Christophe wouldn't wallow through the notion that they were being punished with each passing day. He flinched at a cold, wet feeling against his scalp, looking back to see Christophe holding a paper towel to his head and brushing away strands of hair.

"You are bleeding, I need to feex zat damn floor," he murmured, pressing his lips to the side of his head.

Kyle smiled, subtly shaking his head as he flipped open his laptop and sat in his chair, Christophe following along to tend to his minor wound. "Told you it had to end sooner or later," he teased lightly.

Christophe rolled his eyes, shifting the towel in his hands to a clean portion and pressing back against the small slice in Kyle's scalp. "Let's see what zey 'ave us doing before we call eet good, hm?"

Well, he couldn't exactly argue with that logic. They'd had some pretty dull and dry reconnaissance missions in the past. Days upon days of planting bugs and listening from a hotel room in rotating eight-hour shifts. Kyle _prayed_ that wasn't what they were doing again.

A simple screen with a waiting box came to life at last, Kyle rapidly keying in his given operation number, watching at a quick loading screen come and go with an explosion of information in his face. He hummed, mousing his way down individual lines, hearing Christophe muttering to himself trying to find the information.

"Malta," Kyle answered the question he could hear from his frustrated grunts. He glanced up and grinned, "If this is a quick mission we can hang there and just catch some time on the beach."

"Your pale ass would fry, petit renard" Christophe said dryly, snorting at Kyle's middle finger shooting up towards him.

Kyle scrolled along the mission specs, coming to a picture and nodding to himself, "This Donovan guy is the target."

"To keell?" Christophe asked, deeming Kyle's wound stopped enough to toss the paper towel aside and put his hands on Kyle's slim shoulders.

Clacking his teeth, Kyle shook his head. "No. Looks like it's just intel gathering for the most part…" He read onwards, seeing his codename highlighted. "They want me to integrate into the group. 'Terminate only if necessary'," he rolled his eyes. _Necessary_ was so vague a term, both he and Christophe often held in interrogations from their superiors and told that what _they_ deemed necessary didn't hold true throughout the agency.

Christophe nodded slowly, squeezing his shoulders. "What _eez_ zeir group?"

"Uh… looks like political infiltration," Kyle said, reading a slew of bullet points regarding threatened ambassadors, compromised campaigners, and bombed rallies. "From what I'm seeing here it's a rich man's resistance," he scoffed. "I'll have to read up more on it but I'm sure I just need to hype up taxing the goddamn poor or some shit."

"Eez Donovan ze leader?" he asked.

Kyle shrugged, "I _assume_? Or at least one of them, it doesn't say. But either way, I have to get in and cozy up to 'em. Find out what they plan on going after next so authorities have the upper hand to arrest some of them and work the operation apart."

"And me?"

He squinted, searching through the file and letting out a soft, angry 'huh'. "They don't have you in here."

"Oh for _fuck's sake!_ " Christophe spat.

Kyle looked at him sympathetically, patting his hand. "Look, fuck this file and fuck their bullshit okay? I _always_ need you there as my backup. While I'm inside, you can scope around the outer limits and help me when it's time for me to get out. All right? Don't let being pissed at these fucktards mess with our system."

Christophe shook his head, leaning down and planting a kiss in his hair. "I would never leave you weezout backup, petit renard."

Kyle smiled, tilting his head and pecking his lips. "I know you wouldn't." He turned back to the screen and bit his tongue, "Okay, this seems like a pretty locked group, so it might take me a few days to get in at all. So maybe give me four days or so and then you can come after."

He frowned. There was always a separation they took when heading out for missions, Kyle always on a plane first and Tophe taking a few days to follow, trying to space out their trips to avoid looking connected. Christophe hated it, hated that Kyle was always already _there_ and could be in trouble while he was still on the goddamn plane. But, it was by Kyle's insistence that he did so and believed that it served its purpose. Nevertheless, four days seemed like _far_ too long.

"Two," he countered.

Kyle rolled his eyes, " _Three_."

"Two and a 'alf," Christophe scowled. "We do not know what zeese people can do, Kyle. I weell find where you are and be ready to 'elp get you out eef you need eet."

He sighed, leaning back and rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Fine, fine. I'll find you a hotel just in case I'm somewhere with just, ya know, politicians who won't get their hands dirty."

"Zey can steell 'ire someone to 'urt you," he reminded him solemnly.

Kyle smirked, "They never do. I can convince 'em out of that mindset easily enough. We'll finish this bullshit and then go raise hell with the agency for fucking you over."

"Bon," he nodded sharply.

He chuckled, getting up and shutting his laptop, twisting around and reaching up to cup Christophe's chin. "But, before that and finding tickets… I _believe_ we were in the middle of something _far_ more important than international turmoil." His hand slid its way down Christophe's torso, planting itself firmly on the front of his pants and his lips attaching to his neck.

Christophe grinned, yet again feeling that betrayal and anger slipping through his fingers as he wrapped himself back around him, roughly turning him and leading him back to fall on the couch. He hovered over him, finding hazy green eyes and a coy smile focused solely on him and feeling a shudder roll its way down his spine. His hands wanted to feel every little thing on the man beneath him. He began his mission to do just that, watching as Kyle purred and arched against his touch and his keen senses melted into pure euphoria, letting himself slip off under the care of Christophe's adoration.

Christophe could forget about the mission for now, could forget about how the agency was screwing him over and the insults they were spitting in his face, allowing himself to instead indulge in the prize he so loved to earn.


End file.
